Snapshots
by reciprocityfic
Summary: A collection of various oneshots, all centered around Rick and Michonne.
1. under the stars and in the grass

**Author's Note:** Hey guys!

There's some stuff I've been working on and posting over on Tumblr recently, just random oneshots and such, so I thought I'd start posting them over here, too. So I'll add a chapter to this story whenever I get one finished for your enjoyment! And don't worry, I'm still working on Fires, too, and already have part of the last chapter finished. I predict I'll have it finished before the Season 8 premiere, fingers crossed.

So for this first chapter, I reblogged an ask meme yesterday that said for people to send me a ship and the number of a prompt that each started "things you said..." So here you all go, just a fun little oneshot!

* * *

 **Prompt: Richonne + things you said under the stars and in the grass**

"I never liked camping."

He laughs at her words, and turns his head to look at her, a bemused smile on his face as he watches her keep looking up at the clear night sky from where she lay next to him, in a small clearing where they'd set up camp for the night.

"Guess you had to get over your aversion to that pretty quickly," he says, still chuckling under his breath.

"Me, Andre, Mike, and Terry were sleeping outside in tents no more than a week after the mandatory evacuation was ordered in the city," she confirms, reaching and grabbing his hand from where it lays next to her in the grass, lacing their fingers together. "And I felt like I couldn't complain about it, because at least we had _somewhere_ , and that was pretty good, all things considered. But, _God_ , inside I hated it, Rick."

"I never pegged you as a girl who hated the outdoors."

"Well, it's not very practical to hate the outdoors nowadays. Plus, it's not like I _hated_ the outdoors. I was perfectly content going hiking or kayaking for a day. I just preferred to end those days at home or in a hotel room, cozy with a glass of wine and a movie."

"Hmmm. You would've gotten along with Lori."

"She wasn't a camper?"

"Eh, she was okay with it," he tells her, rolling up onto his side and facing her. "She went on our fishing trips sometimes, mainly to appease me and Carl. But movies and wine sound way more up her alley."

She hums, and then peers at him curiously, like she's trying to figure something out.

"What are you thinking about over there?" he asks softly.

"Just trying to see you as a fisherman."

"Hey," he scoffs, hitting her lightly as she giggles. "I can fish."

"I'm trying to picture you in one of those khaki fishing hats. You know, the ones with the really wide brims that go all the way around and the string under the chin."

"Not _everyone_ who goes fishing wears those."

"Come on, a country boy like you? I bet you wore one," she teases, and she smiles at the adorable pout that forms on his lips.

"I did _not_ ," he insists, frowning deeper for a moment before a wide grin abruptly breaks out on his face. " _Shane_ did, though."

"He did not," she gasps, sitting up and staring at him incredulously.

"I swear to God, he did," he says with a nod. "He was the more outdoorsy one, of the two of us. His old man used to take him out all the time when he was a kid."

He looks past her, and gets a distant look in his eyes all of a sudden. She scoots closer to him, and places her hand on his cheek. It takes him a moment, but he looks back at her, a frown etched in his features once again.

"I miss him, sometimes," he tells her quietly. "Shane. I miss him more than I wish I did."

"I know, baby," she whispers, running her fingers over his skin. "I'm sorry."

He glances past her again, for just a moment before he catches her gaze and smiles softly, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his side.

"Shane's dad taught him all the constellations when he was little, and he used to show them to Carl and me when we camped out."

"Yeah?" she asked, settling into him and turning her face up once again, to look at the clear, starry sky. "Show me the ones you remember."

"Hmm, okay. Okay. See that little swoop there, and then how it crosses back? That's Andromeda."

"What?" she says, sitting up. "Where?"

"Right there," he tells her, sitting next to her and pointing towards the sky. "Andromeda, daughter of Cassiopeia. A swoop, and then a cross."

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"No, I'm serious. Andromeda, right there, swoop, then cross."

"I don't see it."

He doesn't answer her, and when she looks over at him, she groans when she sees the smile on his face.

"Damn it, I knew you were bullshitting me!"

"Okay, okay, wait," he says, grabbing her as she goes to turn from him. "Okay, so I don't know where the constellation _is_ , but it is a real constellation. Andromeda is the daughter of Cassiopeia in Greek mythology. I remember the story, just not where the constellation is."

"Yeah?" she asks, pulling back to look at him for a moment, before resting her head back on his chest. "What happened to her?"

"Well, she was beautiful. And she was so beautiful that her mother thought Andromeda was more beautiful than these sea nymphs, or something, so to punish her mom for her vanity, Poseidon sent this monster to their kingdom that would only be defeated if they sacrificed Andromeda. And that's what they tried to do, but she escaped. And she got married, and ended up being the great-grandmother of Hercules. When she died, they put her in the stars."

"That's…kind of a horrible story."

He shrugs.

"Not completely. The end is happy."

"Yeah, I guess."

They're quiet for a moment, simply enjoying one another in the quiet night, when he rubs a slow hand up her back, and speaks.

"So, you've really never gone camping?"

"I mean, I have _now_."

"No, this doesn't count," he tells her. "I mean before the world ended."

"Then, no. I've never gone camping."

"Would you have gone with me?" he asks, grabbing her chin and tilting her face up towards him. "If you had known me before, and I had asked?"

She smirks, and takes his hand that rests under her chin, bringing it to her lips and pressing her lips to the back of it, before dropping it into her lap and reaching her other hand out to run her fingers through his curly hair.

"Yeah, sheriff. I think I would've gone camping with you."

* * *

 **A/N:** If you ever want to follow me on Tumblr, my writing blog is **reciprocityfic** , same as my account on here, and my main blog is, for Halloween, **drfrankengrimes** , but normally it's **michonnejennings**. I'm also one of the writers over at **richonnejustdesserts** , who also have an account on this website. Check us out - it's a network made up of so many talented authors!

xoxo,  
Rebekah

(PS - Major bonus points to anyone who can tell me what movie I'm referencing with Rick and Michonne's constellation conversation. It's my all-time favorite movie, so again, I'll be super impressed :D)


	2. asleep

**Author's Note:** Here's another short oneshot I wrote from one of the prompts I received last night, and I really love it. I hope you all enjoy it as well!

* * *

 **Prompt: Richonne + things you said when you thought I was asleep**

He tells her to sleep - to not worry about him and _sleep -_ because if there's one thing he knows, it's that they _both_ won't be getting much sleep, at least for a few weeks, if not more. And she's the only one who's done any hard work so far, so she's the one that gets to sleep.

She doesn't want to sleep, because she's so _pretty_ and perfect and small and she never wants to stop looking at her. She has Rick's clear, bright, blue eyes and her smooth, dark skin and she looks like Carl when she smiles even though her boys say the dimples pressed into her cheeks are the same ones Judith had right after she was born.

She's a perfect mix of all four of them, somehow, even though it seems impossible. The four of them are barely related to _each other_ by blood, but this baby is _theirs_ \- is _all of theirs_ \- and it shows on her face, regardless of how much that doesn't make sense. She's _theirs_ , and she's _beautiful_ , and she never wants to close her eyes again, never wants to lift her gaze from perfect person they've been given.

So she agrees to try and sleep, but she makes Rick promise not to leave the room, which he does promise while chuckling softly. So she lays down, and he tucks the comforter around her like _she's_ the infant, instead of the little bundle in his arms. She smiles, and he presses his lips to her forehead, and then to her temple and then to her cheekbone, before standing straight up and beginning to pace back and forth across the floor gently.

And she's just about to let the sound of his footsteps lull her into a much-needed slumber, when the whisper of his voice catches her ear.

"I promise, I'm never going to let anything bad ever happen to you."

It's a frivolous thing to promise - a _foolish_ thing, even. Especially in the kind of world they live in. It's something you _can't_ promise. You couldn't before, and you especially can't now.

But he's promised it, all the same.

She feels the bed dip as he sits down on the edge on the other side, and she only manages to slide her eyes closed again for a moment before she's on her knees, crawling over to his side and resting her chin on his shoulder, staring down at the precious baby cradled in the crook of his arm. He tilts his head to the side, laying his cheek on the top of her head.

"We're not gonna be able to protect her from everything," she breathes, stretching out her index finger and smiling as she wraps her tiny baby fist around it.

He doesn't say anything.

"Rick," she implores, drawing out the syllable of his name like a song.

"I know," he answers quickly. "I know that. God, I know that, it's just…we have to try, don't we? We have to try."

He turns his head, and locks his gaze with hers, his eyes beginning to shine with tears.

"We do," she tells him, bringing her hand up to stroke the side of his face. "And we _will_. But we have to know that sometimes, we'll fail. And that's okay. As long as we _try_ , and do the absolute best we can. And as long as we get all the big stuff, like walkers and Governors and Negans the world has to offer."

"I'm not letting anything like that get within a _mile_ of her."

She laughs, and kisses his nose before settling again on his shoulder.

"Look at her, Rick," she whispers. "She's _ours_. We _made_ her."

"She's perfect," he says, awe in his voice. "She's the most perfect, most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Look what we made," she mumbles into his shirt, and she reaches her arms around his chest so she can hold him.

They're her entire heart and soul - him, their baby, and the two children sleeping in the rooms just down the hall. They're everything she is.

"Look what we made," she says again.

"Yeah," he murmurs, leaning back into her the tiniest bit. "Look what we made."

* * *

 **A/N:** So you'll probably notice that I didn't give their baby girl a name. I have some ideas in my head, but I feel like it's such a huge responsibility, naming Rick and Michonne's child, so I couldn't make a final decision. If you guys really want to, I can tell you guys my ideas and put it to a vote :)

xoxo,  
Rebekah


	3. fight

**Author's Note:** Another one of the "things you said..." prompt! There's a lot of preamble that happens before the prompt actually get answered in this one, as I am seemingly incapable of writing something short, but I actually quite like it, and hope you all will too!

No one got what movie I was referring to in Chapter 1! Several of you guessed Clash of the Titans (which I've actually never seen, lol) so I have no doubt that movie mentions the actual _myth_ I described, but I actually meant the whole 'swoop and cross' exchange where Michonne asks Rick to show her the constellations he remembers, and he points out one that's a swoop and then a cross, and Michonne accuses him of lying to her and it turns out he is. (From the line, "Show me the ones you remember." to the line "Damn it, I knew you were bullshitting me!" to be specific.)

The movie is 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' with Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet, and like I said, it's my favorite movie of all time by far. It's probably the most unique and creative movie I've ever seen, and it's romantic and heartbreaking and funny and thought-provoking and profound all at the same time, with soft undertones of sci-fi to boot. I think everyone should see it at least once in their life, and totally recommend you drop everything you're doing and go find it and watch it now if you've never seen it, for real. If you end up watching the trailers for the film, don't let them turn you off from it; the trailer is a terribly poor representation of what the movie is like/about.

Anyways, here's the next oneshot. Happy reading!

* * *

 **Prompt: Richonne + things you said after a fight**

They _never_ fight.

(Well, _almost_ never.)

Which is probably the reason why, on the rare occasions they do fight, it's so _jarring_. So severe, in the way it turns everything askew. Like someone's tilted the world on its axis and shifted everything a few feet out of place. Like all of her rights have been switched with her lefts.

He closes up when he's angry. He isolates himself, and stops talking, and avoids her like she's a damn walker. It's actually impressive how he manages to stay out of her way; she can count on one hand the number of times she sees him every day. And at night, after he puts off coming upstairs as long as he can while still being semi-reasonable, he enters their room and goes to sleep with his back towards her, without a word. Without a _sound._

It drives her absolutely _insane_.

But she resolves not to give in and make the first move. She _refuses_ to. Hell would have to freeze over first. The world would have to go back to the way it used to be.

Rick closes up, but Michonne fills with pride. She decides that she won't be wrong - that he's _more wrong_ than she is - and that he'll apologize first. She'll apologize back, and admit her fault, but _he'll_ do it first.

And so days pass, without a step in each other's direction. Without clemency. They're both stubborn, sometimes to a fault. And they're the only people left on Earth that have a prayer of matching the other's stubbornness.

And days pass, with nothing.

* * *

Carl, surprisingly, is the one who makes them start to chip at the ice between them.

All four of them are in the kitchen for breakfast, Michonne putting laser focus into cutting up toast and feeding it to Judith at the table while Rick fumbles around through drawers and fridges and cabinets for nothing in particular, both of them putting all their energy into giving each other the cold shoulder. Carl sits across from Michonne, barely picking at the scrambled eggs in front of him as he shifts his gaze from Michonne to Rick over and over again. The tension in the room is as thick as the oppressive humidity of the summer day outside, and hangs off their skin in the same way. Judith babbles away obliviously, and Michonne envies her.

Rick gives up on looking busy and walks over to the table, kissing Judith and Carl on their heads as he bids them goodbye. He barely throws a glance and a shrug in her direction before he heads to door to pull on his boots and start his day, and she ignores the pang it puts in her heart because she will _not_ crack first.

As soon as he vacates the room, Carl turns to her.

"Did you and Dad break up?"

Her head snaps toward him and her stomach twists and his question is so startling that she swears her heart stops for two seconds before it starts beating again.

She's not breaking up with him. She's _fucking mad_ at him, but she's not _breaking up_ with him. Even the sound of it seems so juvenile and callow compared to the seriousness of their relationship. It feels almost disrespectful to the both of them to even consider it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Rick, paused in the middle of putting on his shoes, standing just close enough to hear the conversation but far enough back from the doorway that Carl won't be able to see him from where he's sitting.

Her brain is foggy, and it takes her a moment to answer. Judith keeps talking to herself, and pulls gently on Michonne's fingers.

"We didn't… _break up_ ," she stutters out, and the words taste odd as they leave her lips. Like they've sneaked over from a parallel universe that she has no interest in ever visiting or recreating. "Why would you ask that? Why would you even _think_ that?"

Her eyes dart to Rick for a split second, just long enough to see he's still there and listening, before moving back to Carl as his skin turns pink and he drops his head, his long bangs falling into his face.

"I don't know," he mumbles. "You guys have been really tense and quiet the past few days. If you think you've been hiding it, you haven't been. You've been avoiding each other. And it just kind of...I don't know, it kind of reminds me of my mom and my dad were back at the prison. Before Judith and before...everything else. I know they weren't happy. And if what...happened to my mom...hadn't happened, I'm not sure they would even be together like that right now."

She looks at Rick, who's attention is entirely on Carl now, his eyes wide and hurt and almost embarrassed as he stares at his son. She's filled with the urge to get up and go to him, to _comfort_ him, but she steels herself and turns away quickly.

She won't break first.

Gathering her thoughts, she clears her throat and reaches across the table to lightly grasp the boy's arm.

"Carl."

He sighs and lifts his head, and his expression is _sad_ when he locks his gaze with hers. He looks younger than she's seen him look in a long, long time.

"I hated when they were mad at each other," he whispers.

She nods, and runs her hand over his forearm.

"Carl, your dad and I aren't breaking up," she reassures him. "I love your dad with my whole heart, and that hasn't changed at all. Even if we're not exactly thrilled with each other right now."

"But you are mad at each other?" he questions.

"Well, I love him, but that doesn't mean we're gonna agree one hundred percent of the time," she says, sitting up in her chair. "Nobody agrees on everything."

He nods slowly to himself, but doesn't respond.

"Carl, you know your mom and your dad both loved you so much," she tells him, reaching out to him again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"And you know that _my_ love for you and Judy is totally separate and independent from your dad, right? I'm still gonna be around and be here for the two of you, no matter what would happen with him."

He finally smiles at that, nodding again, and grabs her hand gently.

"Yeah. I know that, too."

They grin at each other, and then he gets up and grabs Judith before he turns to her, the gloominess finally beginning to fade from his face.

"I'm going to take her up to get dressed," he says, and then starts for the stairs.

Michonne smiles to herself as she watches them go, and then stands herself, picking up a few of the dishes on the table and beginning to walk them to the sink, when she sees a flash of Rick, still standing in the doorway.

She looks at him because she almost can't help it, because every atom of her body is attuned and attracted to him like a magnet is to metal. He's staring at the empty table still, the lines on his face drawn and sad. She feels it again, that need to be there, with him and for him.

But she won't break first, and soon enough she hears his boots click against the hardwood floor and the front door open and shut. She puts the dirty plates down and grips the edge of the counter, turning her face up and closing her eyes.

* * *

She's late coming home that day, and it's been dark for at least an hour by the time she turns onto their street. She knows that Judith is already asleep, and that Carl has retired to his room by now, and she hates not being able to say goodnight to them but sometimes things happen and sometimes it's necessary. Today was one of those days.

She can see her house by now and she can see him sitting out on the top step of the porch, the baby monitor and what looks like a glass of whiskey sitting next to him, his forearms resting on his knees and his head hung in front of him.

She feels a obstinate tug in the pit of her stomach trying to convince her to take a detour through Maggie and Glenn's yard and go in through the back door, to not give in, to not _break_ , but she's tired, _so tired_ \- tired of not talking to him, tired of avoiding him, tired of being so far away from him. And she can still see his face staring at their empty table that morning.

So she stays on course and lumbers up the stairs, taking her sword off her back and sitting a few feet from him on the top step. He doesn't look up. She sighs as she grabs the baby monitor to glance at Judith, and smiles softly at the gray image of the little girl, laying on her stomach with her thumb in her mouth and her bum in the air. She puts the screen down, picks up his whiskey and takes a gulp, swallowing with a grimace as she sets the glass back on the porch with a soft clank.

She stares out at the world in front of her, wringing her hands together as the silence between them starts to eat at her. She wants to say _something_ \- she _knows_ that - but she can't think of what to say. She could almost scream from the frustration that's been building inside her over the past few days, and that seems to be choking her suddenly as she sits there beside him.

"I miss you."

The words ring out quietly into the night air, but they're unmistakably there and they're unmistakably _his_ , and she's so happy and relieved that tears well in her eyes.

"I miss you, too," she says, turning her head to look at him, and she finds him staring back at her, his blue eyes shining the same way hers are.

He moves the monitor and the whiskey out of the way so he can reach for her, and their hands meet in the middle of the space between them because she's reaching for him, too. They pull themselves towards each other, and she lays her hands over his chest as his come up to stroke and caress her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and he shakes his head, running his fingertips across her forehead and then tucking one of her locs behind her ear.

" _I'm_ sorry," he insists, moving his thumb over her cheekbone again and again. "And I don't want to fight about this anymore."

"Me either," she agrees as she shakes her head, bringing up one of her hands to cover his and hold it against her face. "We can't. We _won't_."

"We'll talk about it more. Talk about it with the others, find something that works for all of us. For _both_ of us," he swears. "I won't let it happen like before. I won't let it get like it got between me and Lori."

She frowns at the quiver in his voice, and at the tear that escapes from the corner of his eye. She wipes at it with the pad of her finger, and then pulls his face down to hers, bringing their foreheads together.

"I love you," she tells him, and she delights in the way the corner of his mouth twitches up at her statement, in spite of everything.

"I love you, too," he says, pulling her even closer and inhaling as she nuzzles her face deeper into his palm.

The stay like that for awhile, pressed together and breathing each other in, reveling the feeling of coming together again after spending silly days far apart.

"So did you mean it?" he asks suddenly.

"Mean what?" she inquires, pulling back from him slightly and raising an eyebrow at the slight grin resting on his lips.

"When you told Carl we weren't breaking up, and that you love me with your whole heart."

She smiles at the mirth in his eyes, but she doesn't miss the shadow of doubt and insecurity that lurks deep inside, and so she pulls him close as she answers, makes sure they're focused on nothing but each other.

"Yeah, Grimes, I did. You couldn't get rid of me now if you tried."

He laughs lightly, and wraps one of his arms around her lower back.

"I wouldn't dare."

"Good," she whispers, and she pushes a strand of his hair out of where it's fallen in his face, rakes her fingers over his scalp, and leans up to kiss him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Again, if you ever want to follow my writing on Tumblr, my writing blog is **reciprocityfic** , and my main blog is back at **michonnejennings** (but will be changing in a few weeks for Christmas). I'm also one of the writers over at **richonnejustdesserts** , who also have an account on this website. Check us out - it's a network made up of so many talented authors!

xoxo,  
Rebekah


	4. drunk

**Author's Note:** Hi there! Thank you for all your continued love, support, and kind words. Here's another prompt that I filled over on Tumblr!

* * *

 **Prompt: Richonne + things you said when you were drunk**

"Thanks for staying with me."

Rick's eyes moved from the movie she'd put on awhile ago to where she reclined next to him on the couch, her eyes slightly closed, lips stretched into a wide, serene grin. The expression on Michonne's face made him smile, and he chuckled and shook his head as he took another sip of his beer. She was more-than-well on her way to drunk, and it amused him to no end.

"How much of that tequila did you drink?" he asked, motioning to the half-empty bottle sitting on the small table in front of them.

She rolled her eyes, and kicked him from where her feet were stretched out in his direction, groaning through her smile.

"Shut _up_ , Grimes!"

"Hey, hey, hey," he defended playfully, "I'm not judging you. That's what we're here to do, right? I mean, that's what we would be doing if we were out with everyone."

"Which brings me back to my original point," she said in a sing-song voice as she sat up and pulled her knees towards her before draping her arms over them. "Thanks for staying with me."

He could tell she had more to say, so he took another sip of his beer and waited. Michonne sighed slowly.

"It's just, the bar Andrea wanted to go to - which, might I add, she only wanted to go to because that dick from her Political Methodology class or whatever said that's where he'd be - "

"Wait," Rick interrupted, "that Philip dude?"

"Yeah."

"I thought we all told her that guy was an asshole."

"We did," she confirmed with a grimace. "But 'Drea isn't exactly known for her taste in men."

Rick hummed, and set his bottle down on the floor in front of them before nodding at her to continue.

"Anyways, Philip Whoeverthefuck wanted her to go to this certain bar, and it turned out it was the bar that Mike _always_ goes to. And it's the weekend after midterms, and I know for a _fact_ that he's gonna be there. And we just broke up a couple weeks ago, and I just don't want to deal with that right now," she explained, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically and flopping her back onto the couch cushions with a huff.

He tried to hold back his laughter at her antics. He didn't want to seem condescending, and he got what she was saying, completely.

He just didn't often get to see her drunk - this was maybe the second or third time in all their four years of school. She was always so cool and collected and put together. Drank her alcohol in small, controlled amounts. This was an extremely rare occurrence.

He thought it was _adorable_.

"So, yeah," she continued, "thanks for staying home with me."

"You know how much I love hanging out in crowded, loud bars with a bunch of trashed people I don't know," he reminded her sarcastically, tapping her leg gently. "It's not a big deal at all, 'Chonne. Honestly, I'm glad you gave me an excuse to skip."

Given a choice between going to a bar with a bunch of friends or staying home with Michonne, he'd pick Michonne every time.

"I made you miss hanging out with Jessie, though."

Her words so starkly contrasted from the thoughts in his head that it made him choke on his beer.

" _Jessie_?" he asked incredulously through a few lingering coughs, setting his drink on the floor again and turning his body completely in her direction, eyes wide. "You think I want to get with _Jessie_?"

"Duh, _yeah_ ," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Everyone does. And she likes you back, by the way. You're the kind of person who can be oblivious to that kind of stuff for like, years. You shouldn't torture the poor girl."

"Michonne. I do _not_ like Jessie."

"Whatever you say, Casanova."

He couldn't hold back this time, and barked out a laugh that echoed through the room. She frowned, and kicked him in the side.

"Don't laugh at me, asshole."

"I'm sorry," he said while shaking his head, not being able to completely dispel the chuckle from his voice, "Did you just call me _Casanova_?"

"Yeah?" she confirmed as she pressed her lips into a pout. "So?"

He just smiled at her. He was so going to make fun of her for tonight later on.

"You're really drunk, 'Chonne" he told her, as he leaned down to reach his bottle.

"Am not," she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And so what if I am? You said yourself that's what we're here to do. Midterms are over. It's Friday night. Not my fault you've been nursing that one beer all night."

"It's not _my_ fault I gotta walk back to my place after this. Sorry for not wantin' to stumble home, or trip into the street and get hit by something."

"Whatever," she sighed, and he could tell she was fighting the smile trying to creep onto her face. "I guess I'll let you off the hook. Just this time, though."

"Duly noted," he said, saluting her with his beer bottle.

"Now stop running your mouth, and let me watch my movie."

He snickered gently, and turned back to the television screen with a soft 'alright', the lip of his bottle still pressed against his mouth.

He squinted at the screen, trying to figure out what was happening with the characters and the story playing out before him. But he _really_ hadn't been paying attention, and he was having kind of a rough go at it.

So he wasn't at all upset when he heard her voice ring out quietly only a few minutes later. In fact, he was glad for the interruption, if he was being honest.

He wasn't expecting what she was about to say, though. Not in a million years.

"I'm glad you stayed with me."

He turned to her, about to open his mouth and tell her again to stop thanking him, that staying with her wasn't at all a big deal, but his gaze found her not even looking in his direction. She was still focused on the screen, and her expression was soft, and far-away. It was almost _dreamy_ , and it was like she wasn't even aware she was speaking out loud. So he didn't say anything, and simply watched her.

"And I'm not just glad in the general sense, that someone stayed with me and I'm not alone right now," she continued, her words light, like she was narrating a daydream. "I'm glad _you_ stayed with me. I'm glad it was you, because you're my favorite. But not like an Andrea favorite, or a Sasha or Maggie favorite. A different favorite. A _more_ favorite. More than them. More than that."

His heart literally stopped for a second or two.

His head reeled, and his stomach flipped and twisted, suddenly making him even more glad he'd stuck to one beer, because anything more than that and he feared he'd be on the way to the bathroom right now to chuck up anything he'd consumed in the past few hours.

And she lied there, merely watching her movie, as if she hadn't said a word.

 _Because you're my favorite._

Her words echoed in his head, bouncing back and forth in his brain over and over again. His palms started to sweat, and his throat was dry and his tongue was tangled, but he managed to gather himself enough to say something.

" _'Chonne_ ," he breathed.

She hummed in question, and turned to him lazily, looking like she was about to playfully scolding him for distracting her again, until she saw the flabbergasted look on his face. Her eyes widened, and she sat up and leaned in his direction.

"What?"

He let out a short breath and blinked slowly, trying to pull his thoughts together into something cohesive.

"Michonne," he said, biting his lip.

Suddenly, her face fell.

" _Shit_."

She threw her hand over her mouth and stared at him, shaking her head back and forth slightly.

"Shit. _Shit_ , I didn't say that out loud. Did I say that out loud?" she asked, her voice muffled from her palm pressed against her lips.

Before he could even get a word out, she went to get up off the couch, seemingly trying to put as much space between the two of them as possible. But he reached out and grabbed her wrist, and she turned towards him, her expression still twisted in distress. He smiled gently, attempting to put her at ease.

"Will you sit with me here for a second?"

She hesitated, but eventually nodded and sat back down, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. He moved his hand from her wrist so that he could hold her hand, and twined their fingers together, quickly, before he could lose his nerve.

He heard her breath hitch in her throat, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her head so she could stare at their clasped hands.

"Did you mean it?" he asked her softly. "What you just said - that I'm your favorite, more than everyone else. Did you mean that? Is that true?"

She didn't answer right away, and he was about to ask her again when he saw her give him the smallest nod.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yeah, it is."

He couldn't stop the grin that began to turn up his lips, and he wished she was looking at him, so she could see it too.

She started to pull away again, but he tightened his grip on her hand and leaned into her, putting his lips at her.

"Can I tell _you_ something now? A secret?"

She nodded again.

"You're my favorite, too," he told her. He could hear the smile in his own voice, and hoped she could hear it, too. "You're my favorite, and not like Shane is, or Glenn or Daryl. You're my _more_ favorite."

She pulled back a bit so she could gaze up at him. Her eyes were still wide, but they were bright now, and he reached up with his free hand to cup her cheek.

"You've been my more favorite for a long time," he admitted.

And before he could have a second to think of something else to say, or blink, or even _breathe_ , she leaned up and kissed him.

It was everything he had wanted it to be, everything he imagined it would be, and so much more. It was everything he had been waiting for since he saw her for the first time during freshman orientation week. They had been broken up into small groups to play _stupid_ getting-to-know-you-games, and he saw her, sitting across the circle from him, her head thrown back in laughter, and he had suddenly decided that maybe all the icebreakers they had to do wouldn't be so bad.

It was more than he had ever dreamed, and he'd never really liked tequila but now he was tasting it on her tongue and it was his new favorite drink. And he may have only nursed a single beer throughout the whole night, but he knew he was still going to walk home drunk, and it wasn't going to be from the alcohol at all.

Kissing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He felt her hands slip under his shirt and her fingers begin to pull at the waistband of his jeans and he felt like he would die if he stopped her but he knew he had to.

"We shouldn't do this while you're drunk," he murmured against her lips, and he reached down and stilled her hands on him before pulling back an inch.

"People have drunk sex all the time, Rick," she insisted, and she leaned forward to try and find his mouth again, but he dodged her, and she frowned.

"They do," he admitted, letting go of one of her hands to tuck her hair behind her ear, "but you're drunk and I'm not. Plus, it's our first time, and I just…let's make it different than sloppy, drunk sex on the couch. We will, 'Chonne. _God_ , we will, Michonne. And _soon_. I promise."

She stared up at him and listened, biting at her bottom, kiss-swollen lip, and he couldn't help but press his lips against her cheek.

"Let's just be here, tonight," he said. "Let's just sit together, and watch your movie, and just be together."

She didn't answer him, but she didn't resist when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest, and she quickly settled into him, tucking her head under his chin and bringing her hand up to rest on his chest, right over his heart.

"Can I tell you one more secret?" he asked her after they got comfortable.

She hummed in affirmation, and tilted her head up so she was looking at him with her wide, pretty brown eyes.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you during freshman orientation week."

The smile that lit up her face at his words was dazzling, and made him smile, too. She sat up, and pressed a kiss against his jaw and his nose before dropping a final one on his lips.

"Only took you four years and some beer and tequila," she said, and he laughed.

"Yeah, I guess it did."

She giggled and then brought her head down to rest against the side of his.

She whispered in his ear, "I'm glad we finally kissed. Even if _I_ was the one who had to kiss _you_."

He grinned, and blushed, and nuzzled her cheek.

"I am, too," he murmured.

He'd never been more glad about anything in his life.

* * *

 **A/N:** If you have a prompt you want me to fill, visit my tumblr or tell me in the comments or send me a PM, and I'll do my best to fill it. Love and thanks to you all!

xoxo,  
Rebekah


	5. the happiest we ever were

**Author's Note:** Hello! This is another 'things you said' prompt from tumblr, and it took basically 8 months for me to fill. I had a really specific picture in my head for this, though, and I wanted to see it through and make this special. I hope that makes up for the significant delay.

The specific 'things you said' line, in my mind, comes at almost the very end of the fic, but I didn't mark it, and there's tons of conversation, so you can pick out whatever line you want as the specific answer to the prompt. If you want to know what it is for me, just let me know in a comment or a PM.

* * *

 **Prompt: Richonne + things you said when we were the happiest we ever were**

 **\- to build a home**

They liked to go on runs by themselves every once in awhile. Abe likes to tease them and call them the President and First Lady of Alexandria, and while those are titles they don't want or need, the sentiment is true enough. As such, they don't get as much time by themselves as they crave. Throw in two kids, and they are just as much the working parents that existed in the old world.

So they like to get away sometimes, to spend time together without any interruptions, except the inevitable and unavoidable ones, like walkers. They used to be more hesitant to leave the kids, but Carl grows older and more responsible by the day, and Sasha and Abraham are more than happy to watch Judith in preparation of their first baby, as well as Maggie and Glenn, as they raise Hershel and get ready to welcome their second child in about six months.

They feel more comfortable with leaving, now, so they do when they can. Romantic getaways, Rick calls them. To everyone else, though, they're known as scavenging trips. At times, they're looking for a specific need or purpose, at others just wandering and finding what they can.

The time is theirs, no matter what.

Theirs, and theirs alone.

* * *

On this particular occasion, they _do_ have a specific purpose in mind. But this purpose still belongs to them.

There's a pharmacy about ten miles from Alexandria, and it's the first stop they make. It's mostly empty and picked over, but they're hoping since what they're looking for isn't quite an essential, it might still be there.

They enter together and clear the place out, and once they are sure there aren't any more walkers milling about the building, they split up to look through the various boxes and bottles that remain on the shelves.

Rick is the one who finds them.

She hears him call her name, and she turns around to find him rushing towards her, four boxes clumsily cradled in his arms.

"I didn't know which kind you wanted, so I just brought all of them."

She smiles at him - because he's so precious to her and because she loves him so much she feels like smiling every time she looks at him - and peruses the items in his arms. She checks expiration dates, contemplates if she wants the one that boasts early detection or accuracy. She chooses the newest accurate one, and then takes his hand, leading him through the doors and around the back of the building.

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to watch me pee."

"Babe…"

"Do it, for me? Keep watch, and I'll be done in just a bit."

He relents and turns from her, and she does her business and then calls him over.

"What now?"

"We wait three minutes. Keep time?"

"Yep."

He lifts his wrist to look at his watch, and she taps her foot up and down as she waits for each second to pass.

It seems to take an eternity to get through one hundred eighty ticks of the clock, but when he informs her it's time, she almost can't look. What if it's not what she's expecting? What if it's not what she wants?

"Michonne?"

She looks up at him. His expression is gentle, and full of adoration and devotion, and she knows no matter what, it will be alright.

She looks down.

And _she knew_. She knew.

"Michonne?"

This time, his tone his impatient, and eager. She realizes the wait must be unbearable, even though it's only been a moment.

She raised her head, and sends him the brightest smile, tears beginning to fill her eyes.

"It's positive."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He grins, and laughs, lifts her off her feet and into his arms. She nuzzles her face into him, and wraps herself around him.

She feels his lips at her ear, hears the hum of his voice as he whispers five of the sweetest words she's ever heard.

" _We're gonna have a baby_."

* * *

They hole up in a tiny house they find for the night, one she can tell was beautiful before the world ended.

A winding gravel driveway leads through the forest and into the small clearing where the modest cottage sits. It's set back from the road, hidden amongst a grove of oak trees. Only one floor, and made of stone, with a spacious porch extending from the front.

The grass in the yard is long now, and the flower beds that surround its walls are dead. A window is broken, and the front door hangs open. There are hanging baskets that once decorated the porch, swaying with the light breeze, empty and covered in cobwebs.

But it's not hard for her to imagine a time when they weren't. When the grass was green and neatly kept, when a tapestry of flowers grew along the house's walls, surrounding it with a kaleidoscope of colors - with blues and purples and yellows and pinks and whites and reds. When the baskets overflowed with life and beauty.

She can imagine children running through the yard on warm spring days, sunlight shining through the leaves of trees and creating pretty patterns of light and shade on the earth below. Their parents sit on the steps of the porch and watch, permanent smiles on their faces.

She can imagine Carl leading Judith around among grass and flowers, chasing butterflies and warm breezes. Rick sits next to her, one arm around her while the other holds their baby on his lap, bouncing them up and down gently on his knees. The baby laughs, and Michonne smiles.

Andre is there. She can't see him, but she knows. She knows he's there.

She's pulled from her reverie as Rick sweeps her up into his arms. She squeals in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm carrying my babies," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Normally she would protest, tell him to put her down, but this time she doesn't. Because his body is warm and his arms are strong and she's his baby and their baby is growing inside her.

Rick holds her as he walks across the the threshold of the front door of their home for the night. She closes her eyes, rests her head on his shoulder, and sighs.

* * *

They like to have sex when they're out alone. _Of course_.

It tends to be rougher, and louder. More raw. Luxuries they can't often afford when they're back at Alexandria, or on runs with others.

(She can still remember leaving Judith with Maggie, and going on a run with Glenn and Carl a few months ago. The four of them set up camp in an abandoned office building, and she and Rick crept down the hall to a room just around the corner. Their daughter had been up almost constantly the night before with a fever and cough. Consequently, the two of them had no time alone, and she'd been horny all day, and God _help_ her but if the way his hands, the same calloused hands that could be so gentle as he held her and ran his fingers and palms over her bare skin, expertly wielded a machete, and the way she could see his muscles ripple even under his clothes as he moved, didn't tighten and twist her stomach in the _worst way_. She'd been a hair's breadth away from jumping him several handfuls of times, the company be damned.

So that night, they'd thrown caution to the wind a bit. Regretfully, as it turned out. She can still see Carl's face as he burst through the door, gun at the ready. Remembers how his eyes had bugged out, jaw falling open so far it almost hit the floor.

"What the _hell_?" Rick shouted, turning them over and covering her body with his, while she felt around desperately for the nearest blanket to throw over them.

"I thou - I, I though," Carl stuttered and gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish flopping around on the sand, absolutely beside himself. "I heard - and then I thought walk - walkers, or some - but Glenn, and then - oh my _God_."

She could see Carl's blush even in the heavy dimness. After he rushed from the room, they both glared at Glenn.

"What the fuck?" Rick growled.

"Hey, I tried to tell him," Glenn said with the shrug. He was staring at the ceiling like his life depended on it, but she could see hints of a smirk playing on his lips. "But he heard moaning and groaning, and thought it was walkers. I told him you were both _more_ than fine, trust me. But he didn't listen, and he was up and on his way before I could stop him."

Carl didn't make direct eye contact with either of them for at least a month afterwards.)

So they like to have sex when they're out alone - like to be boisterous and unreserved. Free in a way they aren't used to.

It's different, this time.

He carries her to the bedroom when they enter the house, sets her gently on her feet and begins dusting off comforters, fluffing pillows, pulling out long-forgotten blankets from closets and shaking them out. She usually helps him, and tries to now. But he rebuffs her efforts, and she relents, instead gathering their things and organizing them in a far corner of the room, save for his gun and her sword. She knows he wants to do this for her. That it's important to him.

He wants to, and she lets him.

After he's finished, he strides towards her, reaches down and grabs her hand.

"Your bed awaits, my love."

She rolls her eyes, but the smile that takes over her face makes her cheeks ache, as wide and strong as it is.

"You're the cheesiest person on the planet. You know that?"

He laughs as he leads her to the bed at the center of the room, and the sound sends butterflies swarming behind her ribs, still. Sitting her down on the edge of the mattress, he goes to work on her clothes. He kneels down and starts to remove her shoes, looking up at her with his crystal-clear blue eyes and half a smile on his face.

"I am. And you love it."

He starts to begin work on her shoes again, but she reaches out before he can completely turn from her, and stops him.

She grabs his face. Cradles it in her hands. Ghosts her fingers over his cheekbones, his temples, down the slope of his nose and along the line of his jaw. His eyelids flutter closed.

"Yeah, I do," she whispers. "I love it."

When he opens his eyes again, the softness in them overwhelms her. The blue is at peace, like the calmest, glassy ocean, and she feels like she's sitting on the cool sand, watching as sunrise begins to inch over the horizon in the quiet hours of a new day.

He strips her with the gentlest of touches, even now checking in with her continually to make sure she's happy and comfortable. She is, every time. She always will be with him. He is as much a part of her as she is herself, a second skin that curls around her and keeps her safe.

After he finishes, he pulls back the flowered comforter and blue sheets and helps her crawl into the cozy space, then undresses quickly and joins her under the covers, pulling her towards him. He kisses up her neck and across her cheek, as she tangles her fingers into his brown, curly hair. Finally, he reaches her lips, and they share deep, unhurried kisses.

It's different, this time, than it frequently is.

Tonight, it's slow, and sweet, and serene. It's warm, and it feels like coming home after being away for so, so long. She counts every freckle that decorates the bridge of his nose, and he finds all the flecks of light that catch and shine in her dark, wide eyes. They inhale and exhale each other, together in every rise and fall of their chests. She feels him behind her eyes, and he tastes her on his tongue, and they flow through the blood in each of the other's veins, travel through arteries and capillaries and absorb into every single atom.

She thinks, sometimes, when he's inside her, that the world has stopped. That in those moments, every planet and comet and galaxy has aligned in absolute symmetry, and fallen into an impossibly perfect state. Nothing dares to move. Nothing dares to disturb the rare wholeness that swallows this broken universe. It's a silly thought, she knows, one that seems egocentric and ostentatious. And maybe she sounds like a megalomaniac, but it's what she feels, and she's not ashamed of it.

He releases inside her as she clenches around him, and nothing in the world has ever felt so full and right. That perfection swallows _her_ , and she immerses herself in it, starts to drown in it. She never wants to breathe again.

He doesn't withdraw right away. Instead, he lifts himself on his forearms and hovers over her, runs his lips along her shoulders and speaks into her skin.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. The best thing."

She clings to him. She could cry, because she knows the other things on his 'best thing to ever happen to me' list are Carl and Judith, and the two of them - along with Andre and now, their baby - are the only things on her same list other than Rick. She could cry, because their lives are so intertwined now that they're one in the same, different layers of the same heart.

She could cry, because he's hers, unequivocally. He's _hers_.

He kisses her the hollow of her throat, the tip of her chin, the corner of her eye, and then trails down, down, down the side of her face. He nips at and then sucks lightly at her lobe, and presses his mouth to her ear.

"The best thing," he breathes.

* * *

She lounges on top of him in the afterglow, the planes of their naked bodies pinned together. She rests her head over his heart, and uses her finger to draw stars over the skin on his chest.

"Thank you," he murmurs suddenly, and she feels the words rumble and vibrate against her.

She sits up, and straddles his waist, a mischievous smile turning up the corners of her lips.

"Are you thanking me for fucking you? Because, it was my _pleasure_. I'll gladly do it again."

She begins to swivel her hips, and feels him stir beneath her. She's just about to reach down and take him into her hands when he grabs her waist and stills her. She looks at him questioningly, a pout forming on her lips.

"Just a second," he grits out between clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut for a quick moment and then opening them again as he takes a deep, steadying breath. "I promise, just one second. Because _yes_ , thank you, always."

He trails off, stares at her, pupils blown and gaze intense. One of his hand lets go of her, and he places his fingertip at her sternum, then trails it down between her breasts and along her stomach, stopping just below her belly button. Her breath hitches, and she anticipates his touch.

Then, his expression morphs, into something less primal, into something more thoughtful and tender than hot and fierce.

"But…"

He lifts his fingertip and instead spreads his entire hand over her abdomen, cradling both her and their child.

"Thank you," he murmurs again. "For giving me a chance, especially after the way I treated you when you first came to the prison. For giving us all a chance. And…for being mine. For _letting_ yourself be mine."

He laughs dryly, and his eyes dart away from her for a moment. When he looks back at her, his eyes are glistening in the faint remnants of the sun at twilight.

"Shit, I could thank you forever, 'Chonne."

She nods, and smiles, slight pressure building behind her own eyes as she runs a hand down the side of his face, grabs his chin between her fingers and smooths her thumb over the skin there.

"You don't have to. You're the only thing I want. The only thing I'll ever want."

She leans down to kiss him then, with all her might, and they make love again. It's just as pure and beautiful as the first time this evening. It's just as pure and beautiful as it always is, as it's always been, ever since that first night, after the couch and the mints and his lips over hers, the first time for the rest of forever. Afterwards she lies beside him, watching him as he dozes on and off. She hums mindlessly as she grabs his hand and traces the lines on his palm.

The tune soon morphs into something familiar, into something she knew before the world went to shit. She keeps humming, and her face scrunches as she tries to remember where she's heard it. It's not quite the style she typically listened to; it's a bit too twangy and folksy to be something she'd come upon herself, but she can't place how she'd found it.

But she remembers being fond of it, of finding something comforting in its plucky guitar chords and steady beat. And she can only recall bits and parts, but there's a line she _knows_ , that sticks out in her mind like a single flame in the darkest night.

 _Home is wherever I'm with you_.

Something catches in her chest. She looks up at a sleeping Rick, and the image makes her heart swell. She scoots even closer to him, and presses her lips to his collarbone before settling into the crook of his side and closing her eyes.

She keeps humming, as she begins to drift.

 _Home is wherever I'm with you_.

* * *

She's almost sad to leave in the morning. There's something about this place, this house. Something about the warmth that's seeped into her bones and the fullness that beats in her heart.

She's almost sad. But then she thinks of the smile and hug Carl will give them when they drive through the gates of Alexandria, the lilt of Judith's voice as she excitedly babbles 'Momma' and 'Daddy' and tries to hold onto both her and Rick at the same time with her tiny arms, and she's ready to go back.

For breakfast, they eat packets of instant oatmeal, along with fresh apples and ginger tea from The Hilltop. They never stray far from each other, constantly sharing light, casual touches and stolen glances. After their meal, they pack up their belongings and begin to head out.

They open the front door, gun and katana raised, eyes peeled for any sign of danger. They find the outside secure, and put away their weapons and begin to head down the front walkway.

She pauses after three steps, and turns around to look once more at their temporary home. The corners of her lips turn up faintly, in a closed-mouth smile.

She'll miss it here.

When she turns back, she finds Rick staring down intently at something he holds. She calls his name, and he looks at her, a small grin on his face.

He closes the gap between them in two long strides, takes her hand, opens her fingers, and drops something light into her palm. She looks down and sees that he's given her a single, delicate wildflower, with a dark green stem and deep purple petals. She looks over his shoulder and finds a little patch of them growing in the corner of one of the flowerbeds, new, lovely life rising up in the midst of decay.

And a smile that matches his blooms across her face.

"Things break, but they can still grow."

She brings her gaze back to him when she hears his words.

"Where did you hear that?" she asks, and she unbuttons the front pocket of his flannel shirt and carefully sets their flower inside, before closing it up again.

He smirks.

"What? Don't think I came up with it on my own?"

"Hmm. You're incredibly cheesy, but not quite that poetic."

He laughs quietly, and then she watches as his features soften.

"Hershel told it to me, once," he murmurs.

A fondness takes over his expression as he remembers his friend and mentor. She reaches out, and intertwines their fingers.

Rick smiles again, almost shyly, and shifts his line of sight so that he's looking past her.

"I think he knew," he whispers, "even then. I think he knew I loved you."

"You didn't love me at the prison," she says curiously.

He looks back, and when he does, his eyes are so serious and severely full of feeling that it makes her lose her breath.

"I've always loved you, Michonne," he tells her, and he squeezes her hand. "I loved you before I even knew you."

The concept is impossible, she knows. You can't love someone you've never met. You can't love someone if you're not aware that they even exist.

But she also knows that he's being honest, and beyond that, that it's _true_ , and it's the same for her. Although they may have seen each other for the first time through that prison fence, she loved him long before then. A part of her was born knowing him and loving him, somewhere in the deepest, hidden parts of her subconscious.

It's impossible, but it's real. It's one of the only things she's sure is completely, unquestionably true.

She takes his face into her hands, trails the tips of her fingers over his cheeks and feels the pleasant prick of his stubble. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulls her flush against him, and drops his forehead to rest against hers.

They kiss, and everything in the world is right.

* * *

 **A/N:** This is sickly-sweet and kinda self-indulgent, but I hope you enjoyed it anyways.

The songs referenced in the title and within the prose are To Build a Home by The Cinematic Orchestra , Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, and - more subtly - Bloodstream by Stateless.

Until next time.

xoxo,  
Rebekah


	6. black cat

**Author's Note:** Hi there! Long time, no see. This is a quick oneshot I wrote for The Richonne Writing Network's Richonne Halloween Challenge on Tumblr. (If you're on Tumblr, you should totally follow therichonnewritingnetwork if you're not already. It's a team of absolutely wonderful authors that I feel lucky to be part of. We used to post our stuff on richonnejustdesserts, and are still affiliated with them, but we use this other blog now to post new stuff. We also have an account on here called Richonne Writing Network. So check us out!)

I know Halloween was a couple days ago now, but I hope you all still enjoy this fic! I really had fun writing it.

* * *

 **Prompt: Black Cat**

"So, uh. I kinda did something on the way home from work."

Rick watched Michonne curiously as he got up to welcome her, going over to the front door, where she was still kicking off her shoes. As he approached, he noticed that she'd set her briefcase on the floor, but had something tucked just inside her black peacoat.

"What'cha got there?" he asked his wife, stopping a few steps in front of her and nodding to the lump she was still holding.

"That's what I need to talk to you about."

He peered at her, tilting his head to the side a touch. She was chewing on her bottom lip, and looked slightly nervous.

"Michonne?"

He went to move closer, but as he did, the lump shifted.

"What the fuck?!"

"Shhhh! Rick, the kids!"

"Carl's at a study group, Andre's at that after-school science program, and Judy's out back playing in the leaves," he assured her. "But really, what the hell is that?"

As he finished his sentence, he heard a soft squeak come from that wiggly, little lump.

"Michonne," he urged.

Finally, she took her hand out from inside her coat to show him the tiny black kitten she had in her hand.

"Where the hell did you get that?!"

"I was driving home from work, and I saw her curled up on the side of the road," Michonne began to explain. "I didn't stop at first, but once I passed, I couldn't stop thinking about her. She was there all by herself, and I felt so bad."

"So you turned around and went to pick her up?"

Rick gazed at the small cat, cradled in Michonne's arms, looking around the house with yellow eyes so bright they almost seemed to glow. She was completely black, right down to her whiskers and nose, and her fur almost seemed to glisten in the lamplight coming from the living room.

"I told you, she was all alone!" Michonne defended. "And Halloween is only three days away. It's dangerous for cats to be left outside on Halloween. Especially black cats."

She smiled down at the baby animal, running the thumb of her free hand over the top of its head. When she looked up at him again, her happy and content expression had faltered slightly.

"You're not mad, are you? I know you have a thing with cats."

Michonne was right. He _did_ have a thing with cats. Granted, he'd only known two cats ever in his life. But neither of the experiences had been very pleasant. His aunt's cat had hissed at him and ran away any time he got even mildly close to it, and all his grade school friend's cat ever did was pee on the carpet.

To him, they just didn't seem like very pleasant animals.

"I'm not mad," Rick told her. "I just didn't expect you to bring a _cat_ home with you today. What are we even gonna do with her? Take her to a shelter?"

"I guess," Michonne said, drawing out the s-sound as she shrugged her shoulders. "Or we could, y'know...keep her."

He sighed, and looked down at his feet.

"Michonne..."

Michonne was his opposite. Michonne absolutely _adored_ cats. In fact, he was convinced that if she'd married anyone else, she'd have at least four cats by now.

"I told you that cats aren't like the ones your friend and aunt had. They just didn't know how to cat right."

"How to 'cat right'?" he questioned, glancing up at her. He couldn't help the tiny smirk that appeared on his face.

"It's a real thing," she insisted. "And the kids have been asking for a pet."

"Carl and Andre asked for a puppy. And Judith asked for a mermaid."

"A kitten is just as good as a puppy. And Judith will _love_ this little kitten. I guarantee it."

Right then, they heard the back door open and close, and little footsteps start to rush towards them.

"Daddy! I put the leaves in a pile so I could jump!"

Judith rounded the corner, a few orange and red leaves clutched in her fists. Her eyes lit up when they landed on Michonne.

"Michy!" she squealed. "You're home!"

The little girl took off running again, crashing into Michonne so hard that she almost knocked the full-grown woman over, and wrapped her arms around Michonne's legs. She looked up, giving one of her favorite people a toothy grin.

"I missed - "

Her voice broke off suddenly, as she spotted the brand-new thing held in Michonne's arms.

"What's that?" Judith asked immediately.

Michonne grinned, and kneeled down on the floor so that she was level with the excited, curious girl.

"Well, Judes. On Michy's way home, she saw this little, tiny kitty on the side of the road."

"It's a kitty?!" Judith exclaimed, her eyes wide and bright and eager.

"Mmmhmm," Michonne confirmed. "And she was all by herself - "

"It's a _girl_?!" Judith interrupted again. The four-year-old looked like she was going to fall over as a result of her joy.

"Yep. And she was all by herself, so I picked her up and brought her home with me."

"Can I hold her?"

"Yes you can, but you have to be gentle, okay?" Michonne warned. "She's just a baby."

Judith nodded, a look of concentration appearing on her face. Michonne gingerly transferred the cat into the girl's arms.

"She's so soft and cuddly!" she said, her face lighting up and her eyes shining with wonderment. "And her nose is wet!"

"I know! Isn't she cute?" Michonne asked, leaning forward and giving Judith a kiss on the forehead.

"She's so cute!" Judith confirmed. "I love her. What's her name?"

"She doesn't have a name yet."

" _I'm_ gonna name her Blackberry," Judith announced. "Carl gave me some blackberries yesterday and they were so, so good. And this kitty is so, so good too! And she's black just like a blackberry."

"I think that's a great name," Michonne told her. "We can call her BB for short."

"Yeah! BB!"

Rick watched Michonne and Judith coo and fuss over their new friend, a fond look taking over his face as his heart warmed.

"Are we gonna keep her?" Judith asked hopefully.

"I don't know," Michonne answered. "We have to ask your dad if it's okay."

"Daddy!" Judith shouted, turning and looking up at him, lifting her arms to show him the cat she was holding. "Can we keep BB? I love her! You can hold her if you want to!"

His daughter offered him the kitten, and he crouched down, taking the little animal from her. The cat's midnight-colored fur felt like the smoothest black satin in his hands.

He looked down at his two favorite girls, smiles on their faces, awaiting his answer with bated breath. And when he glanced back at the kitten, she was staring up at him with her round, deep gold eyes. She blinked, and then bopped and rubbed her tiny head against his stomach.

And he couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah. We can keep BB."

* * *

 **A/N:** I wrote this in honor of my friend's cat, Blackberry (aka BB), who passed away recently. She was, as I liked to call her, my cat-niece, and she was black and beautiful and so, so sweet. I miss her so much, and I know my friend does as well. So this fic is dedicated to my friend and her beloved cat. Rest in peace, angel.

Also, just a few more things:

\- I have one more 'things you said' prompt saved in my drafts on Tumblr that I'm planning on posting tomorrow. So see you all again very soon!

\- I _**will be continuing**_ Night Class. I promise. I know I've said that a few times, but I just want to reassure people that it _is_ going to happen. I've been really busy with school and doctor's appointments and other no-fun life things, but with the holidays coming up, I should have a little more free time that I plan to use writing that story, and starting two other AUs that I have floating around in my head. Thank you for your unfailing patience, and just try to hang with me a little longer!

\- We all know what this Sunday on The Walking Dead is going to bring, so I'm not gonna type it out here. But know that no matter what happens, my writing and I won't be going anywhere in the near future. Like I said, I have Night Class to finish, and two more AUs I want to publish. So I'll still be around, and hope you will be to.

\- Finally, while I know this is completely unrelated to The Walking Dead and Richonne and fanfiction, but I want to take a moment to remember the 11 people who were killed at Tree of Life Synagogue last Saturday in a horrific act of antisemitism. I live in Pittsburgh, and my school is in Squirrel Hill, five minutes from the synagogue. This hit close to home and has really affected me, but the outpouring of love and support I've seen in its wake still gives me a bit of hope in the inherit goodness of humanity. But please, do not forget these victims, or this incident, and let it motivate you to take a firm stand against hate and violence when you encounter it.

xoxo,  
Rebekah


	7. over the phone, too many miles

**Author's Note:** Hi again! One final 'things you said' prompt. This one is a mix of two different prompts in one fic.

Just a heads up - this is definitely **not** a spoiler fic. Multiple things in here have been proven wrong through spoilers, and this contains no mention of or allusions to the spoilers released a few days ago. It does, however, reference the sneak peek that was released with Maggie and Michonne.

* * *

 **Prompt: Richonne + things you said over the phone (a walkie) + things you said with too many miles between us**

He loses consciousness again.

He loses consciousness, with a herd approaching, and as his mind descends into darkness, he thinks that this is it. This is his end.

However, to his surprise, he wakes again, and not to some version of an afterlife he's never believed in. He _knows_ that he's alive, immediately. He's still in too much pain, and blood still seeps hot between his fingers, for death to have taken him.

The world around him is fuzzy, and fades in and out in strange lurches. He slowly becomes cognizant of the fact that he's being carried, and that he doesn't hear the groans of the herd anymore. To be fair, though, he can't hear much - just muffled voices and the sound of some kind of movement. Nothing is clear; it's like he'd dived into the deep end of some invisible pool, and now his ears are full of water.

The light dims suddenly. He forces his eyes open, and sees dark gray hanging above him.

They're back at the camp, he realizes slowly. They've taken him into some kind of tent.

A face appears above him, blocking out the gray. It's familiar, he determines. He uses all the mind power he can gather, and stares, trying his best to place it.

It's Enid, he finally realizes. It's Enid.

Her eyes are wide and teary. Her lips are moving; there must be someone else there she's speaking to. He inhales the best he can, and then lifts his head. It takes the entirety of the strength he can muster. He feels like his head is weighed down by rocks.

Eugene is there, by his feet. He looks shell-shocked. Like he's just seen a bomb go off.

His neck grows tired, from the few seconds of effort he's managed to put forth. He's about to lay back down, when something at Eugene's hip catches his eye.

It's a walkie.

 _A walkie._

And in a split second, that walkie becomes the most important object to him in the universe. He _needs_ it, like he needs oxygen. Like he needs the blood currently pouring from his side and draining the life from his body.

"Walkie," he breathes.

No one hears him. He tries again.

"Walkie," he says, attempting to raise his voice. His vocal chords feel like sandpaper scraping against each other.

Again, no one responds. He quickly grows frustrated. He knows his time is running out.

He clenches his fists, counts to three, and tries for a third time.

"WALKIE!"

The word comes out louder than even he expected it to. Enid and Eugene jerk in surprise, heads snapping towards him.

"I need the walkie," he tells them, desperation clear in his voice. "Call Alexandria. Michonne."

 _Michonne_.

He needs Michonne. He needs to hear her. To talk to her. He'll never be able to put into words how much she means to him, and how much and how desperately he _loves_ her, but he has to try.

This is his last chance.

"Call Michonne," he instructs again, as Eugene unclips the walkie from his belt. "Michonne."

* * *

She's afraid it's going to come to blows with Maggie.

It's hard. Because she _understands_ where the woman is coming from. She sympathizes with her point of view. She knows why she wants Negan dead.

And she can't deny the grains of truth in her accusations.

 _"If he had butchered Rick in front of you instead of Glenn - if you had a child to raise alone because of him - he would have been dead a long time ago and you know it!"_

And she's right. If that had happened - if Rick, or Carl, had been Negan's victims that awful night - she wouldn't have been able to keep the man alive. If the decision was left in her hands, she would've executed him, brutally. Without a second thought.

But, in that scenario, she shouldn't be the one _making_ the decision. People drowning in grief can't make rational decisions. They react based on the pain they're feeling. The pain that blinds them from any thought of futures or civilizations.

And if she could just find a way to get Maggie to _see that_ …

Maggie steps towards her. Michonne braces herself.

And then, the gate to the small courtyard opens. Nora walks in, a walkie in her hand and a troubled look on her face.

"They're calling from the camp. Asking for you."

She's grateful for Nora's interruption, if only because it makes Maggie back up a few feet. But she can't deal with this right now.

"Tell them I'll call them back. We're in the middle of something."

She turns to Maggie again, and is about to open her mouth to speak, when Nora interrupts her.

"It's Rick."

Her stomach drops.

"I'm not sure - I don't….You need to take it now," Nora finishes.

Nora won't make eye contact with her as she approaches, and hands her the radio with shaking hands.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, and then turns quickly, walking through the gate and rushing away.

Michonne stares at the walkie, dread beginning to swallow her. It's bad. She doesn't know what it is, but she can feel it, inside her bones. It's about Rick and it's _bad_.

She glances up at Maggie. She looks paler than normal, even though she's so upset with her and Rick right now.

Michonne looks down at the walkie again, and finally, brings it to her lips.

"Rick," she murmurs.

She releases the button, and waits for a response. Static is the only answer she gets, so after a few moments, she speaks again.

"Rick? Are you there?"

* * *

 _"Rick."_

Her voice calms him, immediately, even through the crinkly distortion caused by distance and radio waves. He closes his eyes, lets the sound sink into his eardrums, and takes the deepest breath he's heaved in what seems like forever.

 _"Rick? Are you there?"_

He opens his eyes back up, and motions vaguely and Eugene, prompting him to hold the walkie up to his mouth.

"Hey, baby," he rasps. His voice is weak, and gruff. It sounds like it was left out in the rain too long, and is now covered in rust.

" _Rick,"_ she barks, and he recognizes that tone. It's strict, and terse, and she often uses it to prevent stress or anxiety from seeping into her voice.

He wishes he could give her the same kind of peace that's washed over him, because of her. But he knows he can't. That he won't. Not with what he has to tell her.

He imagines her, standing there, somewhere in Alexandria. Her brow is furrowed as she concentrates on their conversation. Maybe Judith is there. Maybe they were walking through the garden, or reading a book together. He bets they were happy. That they were smiling.

A sob rips from his chest.

" _Rick, what's going on? Nora came and got me, and said I had to take this call now, and that it had something to do with you. She didn't say what, but it sounded - just tell me what's going on."_

He takes another breath, but he can't manage one that's deep. This one is shallow, and ragged.

And he can feel the peace slipping away. He can feel the sorrow that's starting to eat away at it.

"Something happened, baby."

" _What happened?"_

He can hear her impatience. He knows he needs to just tell her. Telling her will make it more real, but he has to. He _has_ to.

Before he runs out of time.

"There was a herd going towards camp, and I was leadin' it away on a horse. But the horse got spooked, and bucked me off, and I…fell onto a piece of rebar."

He pauses, and waits. Her voice doesn't come, so he keeps going.

"It…it went through me. And I - "

He stops abruptly, and draws in a quick, shuddering breath. His view of Enid and Eugene's horrified faces starts to blur as tears fill his eyes.

"And there's…" he continues. "It's bad, 'Chonne. There's a lot of blood and it's…it's really bad. It's really bad."

* * *

" _There's a lot of blood and it's…it's really bad. It's really bad."_

She feels like she's teetering on the edge of a cliff, looking out over the jagged, menacing rocks that lie below.

"I'll send Siddiq," she tells him, her voice flat. She says it like she'd say any mundane thing - like she's commenting on the weather, or how she slept the night before. Like it doesn't matter.

Because it _can't_ matter. His injury can't be grave enough for it to matter in the long run. She doesn't let herself entertain any other possibility. She can't process it.

This can't be happening to her again. It can't. It _can't_.

"' _Chonne."_

She hears his voice crackle through the radio, and she speaks again before he can go on.

Because each new word he says seems to creep up behind her as she peers over that cliff, becomes part of some unseen, ominous force that keeps getting closer and closer.

"I'm going to get him right now," she reports, and begins to move toward the entrance of the courtyard. "We have some fuel left over, so we'll send him in a car to get him there faster."

" _Baby."_

"Just have Enid keep firm pressure on it until he gets there. She can even put in a few quick stitches if she thinks it'll help."

" _Michonne."_

Maggie reaches out and grabs her shoulder just as she reaches the gate, and just as Rick's voice plays from the walkie, louder and more desperate than it was just a moment ago.

She halts.

"Siddiq can fix it," she says into the radio, almost robotically, as she's not allowed herself to attach any emotion to the situation at this point. "He will fix it. It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine."

" _Sweetheart, I don't think…I don't think he can fix it. I think it's too late."_

Her heart flutters painfully in her chest. She can feel a pressure between her shoulder blades, pushing her forward, closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

" _There's so much blood. Too much blood. Too much. And I don't think…"_

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

" _I think - I think this is it."_

She can feel her footing start to slip.

" _I think it's over."_

And she falls.

* * *

"There's so much blood," he croaks. "Too much blood. Too much. And I don't think…I think - I think this is it. I think it's over."

Admitting it out loud makes the reality of the situation hit him like a punch to the stomach. He'd known what was happening to him. It's obvious, to himself. To Enid and Eugene. To everyone. And yet, to say it out loud, startles him.

He's dying. He's _dying_.

He's dying _soon_ , if how he feels is any indication. He feels detached from the world. Like there are only a few thin strings tying him to this plane of existence. Like he's a flame blowing in the wind, liable to be snuffed out at any moment.

The pain has subsided, at least. Or maybe he's just become accustomed to it, and learned to block it out.

Now, he just feels tired. _So tired_.

He desperately wants to close his eyes, but he resists. He's afraid that if he shuts them, he might not be able to open them again. And there's still so much he needs to tell her.

"'Chonne," he murmurs. She hasn't responded since he last spoke. "Baby, you there?"

A second passes with nothing, and then he hears her. Hears the fear in her voice, the desperate tone she's using. Hears her breathing pass in short, irregular patterns as she cries.

His heart shatters.

" _I'll get in the car. I'm coming. Please, Rick, I'm coming."_

He shakes his head, even though she's not there to see him.

"There's not enough time."

" _Yes, there is. There is. I'm coming."_

"I love you," he says softly, because it's true, and because he's running out of time to let her know. "I've always loved you."

" _Don't do that. Don't say goodbye to me. I'm coming, Rick."_

"You're the love of my life," he tells her. "My soulmate. I didn't even believe in soulmates until I fell in love with you. But now I know they're real, because you're mine."

He can only listen helplessly as her sobs begin to filter through the radio. He wishes he could hold her.

He wishes he could touch her. One last time.

" _I love you, too. I love you so much. So much, Rick."_

He smiles gently at her words.

" _What's gonna happen? How am I gonna do this without you?"_

 _"_ You'll know what to do," he answers. "You're gonna be fine."

He has all the confidence in the world in her. She'll figure it out, and she'll do things better than he did. He's sure of it.

" _How do you know?"_

He smiles again. It's the same question she asked him after their trip to the carnival, and after she thought she'd lost him. She'd asked it when he told her that if he was gone, she was the one who could keep things going.

He gives her the same answer he gave her then.

"Because you led me here. Remember?"

She laughs, loudly and brokenly, and sniffles as she speaks.

" _Yeah. Yeah, I remember."_

 _"_ Take care of our little bird for me, okay?"

He bites his lip as he thinks of Judy. What he wouldn't give, to see her smile. To hear her giggle.

" _Always. For the rest of my life."_

He nods once at her promise, and then leans his head back from where Eugene is holding the walkie up for him.

He feels weak. Drained. So, so _tired_.

He wants to sleep.

"'Chonne?"

" _What, baby?"_

He hesitates slightly.

"I think…I think I'm gonna go to sleep now."

He hears her sob.

"I'm sorry, 'Chonne. I'm just…I'm so sleepy."

" _Don't be sorry. It's okay, Rick. It's okay to sleep, baby."_

 _"_ I love you," he tells her again. "So much. So much."

" _I love you, too. I love you more than anything. I'll love you for the rest of my life, Rick."_

 _Rick._

He holds on to that word, to the sound of her saying his name, and lets it echo in his brain. A morning a few months ago pops into his mind. He'd had the day off, and decided to sleep in. But he was woken up earlier than expected by a tiny giggle and a whisper in his ear.

 _Rick_.

He could feel small hands tapping on his back, and when he opened his eyes, he saw his two favorite girls standing there, looking at him with wide, mischievous smiles on their faces.

"Daddy, time to get out of bed!" Judith had announced excitedly.

"Yeah, Daddy," Michonne had confirmed. "Time to start the day."

She'd leaned down then, and pressed a kiss to his brow, then to his cheek, then to the corner of his mouth. And she'd whispered in his ear, again.

 _Rick_.

He knows that in the memory, he'd gotten out of bed after their poking and prodding, gotten a shower, and then went downstairs and had breakfast with his family.

But he lets himself imagine it happened differently, this time.

This time, he wraps his arms around both Michonne and Judith, and pulls them onto the bed, on top of him. Both of them laugh and squeal, and the sounds make the widest grin break out onto his face. They situate themselves so that both of his girls are curled into his sides, Michonne on the right and Judith on the left. He presses his lips to the top of Judith's head, and then leans over and kisses Michonne, slowly and deeply.

And he knows, in that moment, there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.

He squeezes his girls closer to him. Michonne whispers in his ear again.

 _I love you, Rick_.

He smiles.

And he closes his eyes.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope I didn't make you cry, and I hope you didn't mind the point of view jumping back and forth so much. *ducks and hides*

Good luck with tomorrow, everyone! And hope to have some sort of update for you soon.

xoxo,  
Rebekah


	8. father's day

**Author's Note:** Happy Father's Day! To celebrate, I wanted to write something for my favorite fictional father - Rick Grimes. So have this tiny fic starring Rick and Rick Jr.!

* * *

He remembers Father's Days of old. When Carl would give him cards covered in balloons and bears with _#1 Dad!_ printed across the front in bold letters, a tiny note scrawled inside in his son's messy handwriting, a tiny keepsake crafted under Lori's watchful eye presented alongside it.

He remembers a Father's Day at the dawn of the new world. He spent the day with his family, playing games and telling stories, Judith almost continuously presenting him with original songs and dances, and every so often throwing her arms around him and telling him he was the, "best daddy ever and ever!" while Michonne took a picture in the background with Aaron's Polaroid camera.

He isn't expecting anything this Father's Day. And it's not just because Judith is at the Hilltop for a visit with a recently-returned Aunt Maggie and Hershel. Or because he's planning on not going to the community gathering tonight to celebrate all the dads, because he still feels a bit out of sorts in this place, even though it's surviving and thriving on the foundations that he built, and he's married to the leader.

It's RJ.

RJ...is having trouble warming up to him. It's not so unusual, and it will get better, will fix itself with time. That's what Michonne keeps telling him, along with Siddiq, and Aaron, and anyone else who knows of the problem. And it's not hard to understand. For the first seven years of the child's life, he was nothing but a ghost. Then when he did reappear, he was so _strange_. Famished and filthy, flighty and far removed from the man who starred in the stories RJ had heard, so much so that it was hard for _everyone_ to reconcile, let alone a child.

And he knew that. He _knows_ that. He expects to have to put in time and effort to build a relationship with his son. He's willing and eager to do it.

It's hard, though. Incredibly, unspeakably hard. You see, he never loved anything as quickly as he loved RJ. It was instantaneous, there within a single beat of his heart. One moment, he didn't know he had a son. Then, he saw him, and he _knew_ he was his, and he _loved him,_ wholly. Ferociously. And now, all he wants to do is smother his son with that love, make up for all the years he missed loving him.

It's hard, though. It's hard when he feels RJ tense every time they touch, when he talks to Rick in one-word mumbles, and gazes at him with suspicious eyes.

It's hard. And he's not expecting anything. Not this Father's Day.

He's surprised, then, when he's awakened by a small finger tap, tap, tapping on his shoulder, as he lies in bed on his stomach. He's finally readjusted enough that he doesn't startle at every unexpected touch, and his eyes blink open.

His blue orbs meet a pair of brown ones. Ones he'd recognize anywhere, because they're a carbon copy of Michonne's.

 _RJ_.

He swallows the enthusiastic greeting that bubbles to his lips, and treads carefully.

"Hey, RJ."

"Hi, Daddy," he murmurs back, in a small voice, a cautious look on his face.

Rick goes to speak again, but first catches sight of the sheriff's hat sitting on the boy's head. Carl's face flashes in his mind, followed by Judith's, before settling back onto the child in front of him.

"Whatcha got there?" he asks, motioning to the hat with his head.

RJ's eyes flash with alarm, before he looks away. Rick can hear him twisting his foot into the carpet, the soft cotton of a sock grinding against the rug.

"Judy forgot it when she left, so I took- I mean, _borrowed_ it from her."

RJ frowns, and stares down at the ground.

"I know Judy doesn't like it when I go in her room, but - "

"I won't tell her," Rick interrupts. When RJ looks up at him, he smiles softly, and places his index finger over his lips.

"Our secret?" he whispers.

"Our secret," RJ agrees, and places his own finger over his lips.

A small grin begins to take over the child's face. Then, he lifts his arms and lays a folded piece of paper on the bed next to his father. As Rick picks it up, he reads the words scribbled on the front in bright blue crayon.

 _#1 Dad!_

"Mommy told me it was a day called Father's Day, so me and her made a card for you while you were in the garden. Mommy helped me write the words, and I drew a picture of us inside."

Rick opens the card to find two blue stick figures, one much taller than the other, in a field of pointy green grass. _Happy Father's Day!_ is written below it, followed by RJ's sloppy signature.

"Thank you, RJ," he says, as he props the card up on his nightstand.

Again, he's careful. He wants nothing more than to sweep the boy up into his arms, and shower him in cuddles and kisses. But he knows he can't do that.

"I really love it," he says instead. "I'm gonna hang it up so I can see it all the time."

RJ nods, the smile on his face still lingering. He looks over his shoulder at the doorway, and then turns back to his dad.

"Mommy said she's making waffles instead of pancakes today because they're your favorite. We usually can't because we have to save 'lectricity but she said today is special. Do you wanna eat with me?"

He stares at Rick with wide eyes. Rick can see a hint of eagerness in them, and it makes his heart swell.

"I'd love to, RJ."

He moves to get out of bed, and RJ takes a few steps back to give him space. Rick gets a shirt from his dresser, and pulls it over his head. RJ watches him with curious eyes.

"Ready?" Rick asks him. RJ nods, and then reaches out and takes his hand.

"Ready."

They make their way out of the room, and down the hallway. He can hear the sounds of Michonne moving around in the kitchen.

When they get to the stairs, RJ stops him.

"Daddy?" he says.

"What?"

RJ glances away. When he looks back at him, his gaze is shy.

"I love you," he tells him softly.

It's the first time he's told him unprompted by Michonne. His jaw drops slightly, and he can feel the pressure of tears behind his eyes.

But he must be subtle. _Careful_. So he swallows once, and then crouches down so he can look into his son's eyes. Before he can speak, RJ steps towards him, between his legs, and wraps his small arms around his torso.

"I love you, Daddy," he repeats.

This time, he can't help the tear that escapes from his eyes. He's glad RJ can't see, as he hugs his boy back with all his might. He wasn't expecting anything this Father's Day, and instead, he got this moment. Something worth so much more than any trinket or gift.

When RJ pulls back, Rick looks into his eyes.

"I love you, too. More than anything else."

RJ smiles, a beaming smile that Michonne keeps saying he inherited from Rick. The two stand up straight, and then RJ takes his hand again, and leads him down the stairs.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you liked it! And Happy Father's Day to all the great dads out there!

xoxo,  
Rebekah


	9. what i am to you (is not real)

Author's Note: Hey guys! Here's a little something I wrote after SDCC. I hope you like it!

The title comes from the song 'Volcano' by Damien Rice. I also listened to that song while writing this.

* * *

 **what i am to you (is not real)**

He kisses her first.

He kisses her first, in an empty field while regrouping from a run. They'd lost someone - someone who'd lived originally at The Kingdom - and she sees him, at the edge of the meadow, all alone. She can tell he is upset. She walks over, talks to him a bit, and then gives him what is intended to be a friendly, parting hug.

Except, when she pulls away, he leans forward and kisses her.

It is wholly unexpected, and she doesn't know how to react. She lets it happen. Her eyes close naturally, and after a few moments, her lips form a small pucker against his.

It's foreign to her - kissing someone - after so many years of going without. Her instinct doesn't kick in. She doesn't know where to put her hands, or which way to tilt her head. So instead, she stands still, her left hand pressed delicately against his shoulder blade a remnant of their hug earlier.

The kiss isn't a long one. He moves away, while she stays frozen in place. She peers at him with widened eyes, watches him as he stares at the ground while his chest heaves with deep, quick breaths, curious as to how he feels.

She doesn't know how she feels.

He looks up at her, from under his eyelashes, and she wonders if he's trying to look enticing. Desirable. To her, he just looks like Ezekiel. An Ezekiel that opens his mouth and awkwardly closes it again, then pauses a moment before turning and walking away.

She watches him leave, and touches her lips.

* * *

She decides kissing him isn't bad.

It happens a few more times in the following weeks. He starts visiting Alexandria more often, and every time he does, he finds her - in dark corners, behind fences and houses, always the opposite of the bright field he chose the first time - and kisses her first. They last longer, and she becomes more responsive in kind. Sometimes, she grabs his bicep, or wraps her arms around his waist.

And she decides kissing him isn't bad. It isn't a revelation, or particularly thrilling, but it sort of gnaws away at the loneliness that tugs at her sometimes, when the kids are asleep and she's in bed. When all she can hear is the creaks and moans of the house settling, as she lies enveloped in cold and empty bedsheets, surrounded by darkness. When her heart aches for company of any kind.

And she thinks that maybe, this is what she needs. Something not good, but not bad either. Just something different. Something hollow and safe.

Something she doesn't have to be afraid of losing.

* * *

The problem, though, is that she can't turn off her brain.

Her heart may be silent, but her brain just won't _shut up_. It's always turning, spinning, thinking. Always whispering in her ear.

 _This isn't the same._

 _That's what's good about it_ , she whispers back. _That's why I need it._

But on and on it goes. Rolling around in her skull. Making comparisons that aren't fair.

 _His lips aren't as soft, his hands are larger and not as rough, his tongue isn't as diligent, his voice is different, his nose is different, his eyes are different, his hair is different, he's different, he's different,_ _ **he's different**_ _._

 _I know that_ , she insists. _I know that._

 _Then what are you doing?_

* * *

Her heart speaks up, finally.

He invites himself over to her house for dinner, tells her to send the kids to Aaron's for the evening. He's trying to date her, in a way, she thinks. She complies, because she doesn't know what else to do.

She roasts a chicken, he brings cobbler from The Kingdom and a bottle of wine. They eat, make small talk, pour drinks and move into the living room to sit on the couch.

She sets her wine on the coffee table. He says something that makes her laugh. And then, it happens. He kisses her, first.

Initially, it's like all the other ones. A little longer, perhaps. A bit deeper.

Then, it changes.

Then, he places both of his hands on her hips, and pulls her closer. He works his tongue until it's firmly in her mouth, lets out the faintest moan. His hands begin to slip under the bottom of her shirt.

Her heart _screams._

His fingertips against her bare skin is a shock to her entire system, and she jumps back from Ezekiel abruptly, making the springs in the cushions of the couch squeak and bounce. Their lips part with a loud smack. She stands up, takes three steps backwards.

He stares after her with alarmed eyes.

"Michonne?"

"I don't want this," she tells him, repeating the words that are suddenly beating over and over in her heart, as if they'd been there the whole time and she'd been ignoring them.

Maybe she had been.

"What are you talking about?" he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.

" _This_ ," she emphasizes, using her finger to motion between the two of them. "I don't want this."

He's quiet, and she watches understanding wash over him slowly. His shoulders slump, and the light burns out in his eyes. He looks decidedly rejected.

She's overcome by a wave of sadness - for him, for them, for the entire situation - and she wishes she had realized sooner.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"I thought..." he begins, a frown turning down his lips.

"I thought -" he begins again, then stops.

"I know," she says. "I know. It's my fault. I should've told you sooner. I wish I had known."

"It's not your fault," he mutters, after a moment's silence. He leans back into the cushions, rests his arms along the back of the couch.

She doesn't know what to say, so she stands there, feeling helpless. He seems deep in thought. She's about to ask him what's going through his head, when he speaks.

"We were both lonely. I thought that maybe we could...be beneficial to each other's plight."

He shakes his head, looks up at the ceiling and smiles at nothing.

"I even had the crazy idea that maybe - someday - we could be something more."

Again, she doesn't know what to say. That thought had never even crossed her mind. Not even for a second.

It's not like that for her, anymore. It's impossible.

"I guess things aren't that easy, are they?" he says, looking over at her with a dejected smirk.

"No," she agrees. "They're not."

He gets up not long after that, and she escorts him to the door. He gives her a hug and presses his lips to her forehead. He tells her that he wishes her nothing but happiness, and she wishes the same to him. With one more sad smile, he walks out into the night.

She watches him leave, and touches her lips.

* * *

She goes to visit Rick the next day.

She arrives at the bridge and ties up her horse, finds a spot on the shore of the creek, and sits. For awhile, she simply closes her eyes and rests, listens to the water as it flows over rocks and dirt.

"I'm never going to get over you," she murmurs.

Then, she smiles.

"And you know what? I'm okay with that. I'm okay with the fact that I'm never going to get over you. I know that you would want me to be happy. And I know that it would be okay to move on with someone else."

She shrugs, and laughs once.

"But I don't want to. I don't want to move on. You're my person. I found you. In all of this bullshit, I found you, and I want to hold on to that. Some people _never_ find the love of their lives, but I did. I did, and I'm not going to ever move on from that. Even though you're not here, I'm not going to let anyone take that away from me."

She opens her eyes, and looks out over the water as it shines in the sunlight.

"You make me happy. Even now - even though you're not here with me - you still make me happy. At least, as happy as I can be without you. And no person is going to make me happier than you can. Than the memory of you can. Just knowing that I had you is enough. For the rest of my life."

She closes her eyes, wraps her arms around herself - around his denim shirt, which she wears almost constantly.

"You're enough," she whispers. "You'll always be enough."

And again, she smiles.

* * *

A/N: I hope you don't hate me too much for writing about that dreadful kiss, and I hope you were happy with the way things ended. Let me know how you felt with a review!

See you all soon!

xoxo,  
Rebekah


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